Locked
by mochamaker
Summary: Seven incahoots with Tom Paris in the Holodeck. And then, a mystery guest appears.


I do not own the characters, and I am not making a profit off this tale.

Rated M for seductive spice

POV of Seven

For A.

**Locked, Cocked, and Thrusted**

For the third evening in a row, I glance around to make sure no other crewmembers are watching me, then I slip into the Holodeck doors. I smile as they swoosh shut, indicating that I have once again, entered undetected.

"Computer, run alpha-sigma-seven-one-two." The empty grid instantly becomes a dusty pathway, surrounded by wooden buildings. My spurs make soft clinks as I walk toward the Saloon structure. I was against the spurs, but Mr. Paris insisted they completed the cowboy outfit, and if anyone knows period costume, it is Tom Paris.

The majority of today is blurry, only the memory of yesterday remains. But instead of being worried about my block of memory disappearing, I intend only to focus on the moment. And right now, I want a drink, because my mouth dry and sticky. Smacking my lips in anticipation, I think of the bite of whiskey, my memory instantly recalling the taste of the beverage I consumed yesterday at the persuasion of Tom Paris.

The air inside the Saloon is thick with dust and the scent of human sweat. I inhale deeply, enjoying the aroma. Glancing around, taking in my surroundings, I notice the floor is covered with dirt and animal excrements. The dark smears under my feet must be contributing to the scent.

"Hey Seven, over here," a voice from the corner shouts.

I look over and see Tom Paris, waving at me franticly. No escape now. I walk over toward his corner and say, "Lieutenant Paris," and nod in greeting, as was the custom of the Old West. I stop in front of his table, and look down at him.

He smiles up at me. "Seven. It's Sheriff Paris. Hey, take a seat, and I'll show you why they called me 'fast hands' at the Academy." He shuffles a deck of cards, then starts to disperse the cards into piles of five to the other three members seated at the table. I watch the numbers on the cards as they are picked up.

I pull a chair over and sit down. Tom passes me a glass and the bottle of whiskey, knowing I will want it soon. I pour a glass, then sit back and watch him as his face gets serious once again. "And why did they call you 'fast hands', Sheriff Paris?" I ask, knowing he will answer me, giving me ample opportunity to study the other players at the table. A woman in a bright red dress and two men in cowboy hats, shirts and vest. The woman is beautiful and flirtatious with Tom, she is no doubt one of his conquests of late, but the two men have their hats pulled down low, obscuring their features. One man is tall, about the stature of Tom, while the other is short and the size of Lieutenant Torres.

My perusal of the other players complete, so I turn my attention back to Tom and listen to his voice. "This card game," he motions over the table with his hands to indicate the cards, "is called five-card stud. A game called poker from the West. I'm the fastest dealer in the galaxy. I played this game all through my education, and I even won a trip to Risa with this game right before my academy graduation."

"Risa? I imagine you found the planet quite entertaining."

"I did. The ladies of Risa were quite accommodating for this young cadet." He smiles at me, his blue eyes lighter than before, as he looks intently at his cards, his mind calculating his the numbers on the rectangular cards. I watch as he picks up two pieces of gold, the currency of the time, and places them in the center of the table.

"Ante up," he says loudly, so he is heard over the rumbling voices of the other saloon patrons. I sip my whiskey, the smoky liquor rolling over my taste buds, and continue to watch, knowing better than to get involved in any game that Leutinent Paris is playing. I lost my replicator rations last week by participating in a 'bet' in which he insisted I be a part of.

The each player tosses in a few gold pieces to match the wager, then gaze at Tom in waiting. He nods and then asks, "draw of fold?" It is lingo for the card game and I do not fully understand it, but I will ask him when he is not busy to explain what he means.

Two players lay their cards down and say fold, leaving Tom and a small man in the game. The man has his hat down low, covering his face. His features remain a mystery. The small man tosses in another gold piece to the pile. Tom tosses in two more pieces, then says, "show me what ya got?"

The small man remains silent, but shows the hand of cards. Tom shouts, "royal flush…damn." He tosses down his hand of cards in defeat. "You win, fair and square."

"Don't I always," the man says, his voice deep and resonating. His head is down, as his small hands eagerly reach out and grab the pile of gold, pulling the winnings closer with an air of confident triumph.

Tom leans in and says, "say, how did you get that hand?"

"Pure luck, Sheriff,"

"Luck is what you make it." Tom winks at me then says, "so, what's your name stranger?"

"Oh, why don't we save the pleasantries for another evening," the man says and stands, keeping his face down as he shoves the pieces of gold into his vest pockets. Something in the pitch of his voice is familiar to me. The scent of rose and vanilla now mixes with the stale scents of the Saloon. And I immediately recognize the scent. It is a scent as familiar to me as my own, a scent I have smelled for countless hours while in the company of the one human I have come to have affections for.

"Good evening to you both," the man tips his hat, then turns and walks toward the bar.

"Can you believe his luck? I've been duped Seven. I only had a pair of sixes but that's what poker is all about, trumping your opponent for the bounty," Tom rants, but I am no longer listening to his voice, because my attention is focused on the figure of the 'man' at the bar.

"I need another drink, Sheriff Paris," I leave the table intent on walking to the bar because I need another glimpse of the mystery man to confirm my suspicions. Tom grabs my wrist before I can leave and says, "Seven, you haven't finished your whiskey yet."

"I do not desire whiskey," I say, standing and shaking off his grasp.

"But…" he says. I ignore him and walk to the bar, stopping right behind the figure of my desire.

The rose and vanilla scent is stronger the closer I lean into the mystery man, confirming my suspicions with a rush of sensations as I inhale deeply. The mystery man is not a man at all. Captain Janeway leans against the bar, her face down, and her eyes hidden by the brim of her black cowboy hat. A half empty glass of dark liquor sits in front of her.

My eyes remain locked on neck and the line of her jawbone. I do not know why I failed to recognize her the moment I caught a glimpse of her jaw and chin. It is one of a kind, and so very strong and beautiful. It is a place I have imagined placing my lips.

"Seven…did you want something?" she burrs, not lifting her head. I sigh at the annoyed tone of her voice. I have spoken with her enough to know her feelings by the tone of her voice. My stubbornness overrides my sense and I resist the urge to make her turn my way and inform me as to what I have done to cause her annoyance. My Borg sensor immediately detect her increased heart rate and respiration, indicating her sudden anxiety.

Perhaps she is not annoyed with me at all. Making a decision, I step forward, wanting to comfort her as she has comforted me on many a evenings, and whisper, "yes, there is. I would rather inform you in private, if that is alright?"

She sighs, and says, "come with me." She slaps a gold piece on the bar, her back still to me. Her scent is strong as she turns to face me, the brim of her hat still low and hiding her face. I need to see her eyes. I slowly reach out, so as not to frighten her and gently lift the brim of her hat, revealing her face in the lowlight of the Saloon.

Her dark eyes lift and meet mine, her pupils wide and her cheeks blossomed with a hint of deep red. "Lead the way," I husk, and drop my hand.

"Of course. Don't I always?" she whispers then steps around me, breaking our gaze. She keeps her head down as she walks to the stairway, located at the back of the Saloon, then takes the stairs two at a time. I follow close behind and keep my head down until I reach the top of the stairs where she stands with her back to the room, waiting for me to reach her.

I inhale her scent as I step close to her, our bodies almost touching. Leaning down, I whisper, "I will follow you, as long as you lead me."

Her breath halts for a minute, then resumes a fast cadence, almost a soft pant. "I will always lead you Seven, no matter the task." She reaches back until her hand touches mine, and her soft fingers grab mine in a strong grip. Everything about the Captain is strong, and I have yearned since the moment our eyes first locked in the Sickbay, to see her in a moment of weakness, a moment of unguarded pleasure.

I allow her to pull me down the hall and into one of the rooms the Saloon girls use for entertaining. The rooms are rented by the hour or by the night, depending on the clients preference, or so Tom Paris informed me yesterday before following one of the beautiful women to the upstairs, leaving me alone at the table with the bottle of whiskey and an empty glass to drown my wanton desires for the one whom I thought I would never have. Now, she holds my hand, tugging me along as she lights the room lantern off to the left, illuminating the darkness to my wanton eyes.

She takes off her hat as she turns to me, her eyes lifting and meeting mine. The blue of her eyes so deep and intense, I feel I might drown and not care. My chest is tight with the force of my held breath. She tosses her hat over onto the table, not releasing my hand, then reaches behind me to lock the door with a whisper of steel against steel as she slides the bold across.

"I don't want us to be disturbed." Her voice a dry husk, the timbre going straight to my spine, causing me to shiver in response. "It's better this way."

"What is better? Why are we here?"

"Don't ask questions you should already know the answer too. I see your eyes reflecting exactly what your Borg systems tell you that you see in mine." As if to confirm her statement, she gazes into my eyes as she brings our joined hands up to my line of sight. The sight of our joined hands causes me to gasp, then stop breathing as she brings my hand toward her mouth, her breath warm as it caresses my skin. Then her mouth is brushing the back of my human hand, her soft lips kissing my knuckles gently.

Desire flares within me. And I know it flares within her too because her body does not lie. Her heart is beating rapidly and her skin is flushed in all her erogenous zones. I move my hand away from her mouth and use our joined hands to lift her chin up, the sweep of her hair falling back and away from her shoulders. I lean in and place my lips beside her cheek, and whisper, "should you lead or shall I?" I kiss her jaw softly as I have longed to, and hear her breathing stop as I kiss her again and again in soft brushes of my lips. Eventually, I move over to her earlobe and place a soft kiss there.

Her head turns in response. "I will," she husks, her voice deeper than I have ever heard it before.

My nerves respond immediately and I feel my body becoming aroused, my nipples hardening and warmth flooding the gap between my upper thighs. The sensations are more than familiar to me in this woman's presence. I feel aroused every moment that we are in private and sitting close enough for me to smell her sweet scent.

She releases my hand in favor of grabbing onto my hips, the warmth of her fingers reaching my skin through the thick fabric of my trousers. When picking out a period costume to fit the holo-program, I decided on the traditional male costume, much to the puzzlement of Mr. Paris, but he nodded his approval and remained quiet.

Never having touched the Captain before in reality, I wrap my arms around her waist, testing her resistance to my touch. She reacts by moving her hips closer to mine, and leaning her head back to give my mouth better access to her neck. "Let's move over to the bed, Seven," she whispers, her hands gripping me tight. I remove my lips from her fragrant skin, and move as she bids using slow steps as I push her over until her knees almost touch the edge of the bed.

"You are beautiful," I say, then lean down to brush our lips together.

Keeping our lips together in a gentle kiss, her hands slide up and start to un-tuck my shirt from my trousers. I copy her actions, slowly pulling her shirt from her pants. When my shirt is pulled out, she unbuckles my belt, then unfastens my trousers with quick movements of her fingers. Her warm fingers slip inside to brush the skin of my abdomen and hips.

"Oh," I gasp, my hands halting their movements at the feel of her against my sensitive skin for the first time.

Her hands stop and she asks, "did I hurt you?"

"No. I enjoy your touch," I answer. "I crave your touch. Please, do not stop."

She laughs a deep laugh, then says, "I don't plan to, so long as you want me to touch you this way."

Reaching down, I grab her hand and push it farther down inside my trousers, her fingertips almost touching me in my most sensitive place. "Yes, touch me."

Her fingers slip further inside until she cups me, her fingers brushing my wet flesh in a most enticing manner. A whimper escapes my mouth at the feel of her touching me this way, as I have longed for her too. I feel dizzy and hang on to her tighter. My vision swims and the darkness threatens to overtake me. Her lips brush my cheek and chin as she pulls me down to rest on top of her warm body, her low voice whispering nonsense words of comfort.

I rest my forehead against the scratch bed, right above her shoulder as her fingers start to move. The sensations bombard me and I gasp and whimper, my hips moving in tandem with the slow circling movements of her fingers against my sensitive cleft.

It is difficult to catch my breath, and I close my eyes as the sensations intensify. Then suddenly, the world turns upside down and my body jerks and shudders.

Darkness overtakes me and the world disappears.

"Seven. Are you alright?" a far off voice husks into my ear. I smell the scent of rose and vanilla. It is a scent I recognize and immediately identify as the Captain's. "Seven?"

"Captain?" I whisper, my throat scratchy and sore.

"Oh good. She's coming around." I hear another voice, not the Captain's.

"Seven, come on and open your eyes," the Captain says from close by.

I obey her and open my eyes, but then immediately shut them as the blinding light hurts me, causing my head to pound. "I do not want to."

"Just for a minute. Please?" She touches my hand, grabbing my fingers as she did before at the Saloon, and brings my hand up to her lips, placing a soft kiss against the back of my hand.

I open my eyes, looking until I meet her gaze. I gasp as I see moisture gathered in her eyes. She was crying. But why? "Captain, what is going on? Why am I in Sickbay? Did I pass out at the Saloon?"

"Saloon? Seven, do you remember being in the transporter room?"

"No." I close my eyes, the pain from the lights too much for my sensitive vision.

"I found you curled up on the transporter pad late last night, talking about being in the Holodeck, and that you didn't want the Sheriff to teach you how to play five-card stud. You must have caught a virus that your Borg systems couldn't deal with because you've had a high fever for over ten hours."

"I do not remember any of it. I am confused Captain on what is real and what was only a dream."

"That's not surprising given how high your fever reached. You must have been hallucinating."

"Impossible. Borg do not hallucinate.'

"True. But Seven, humans do have fever dreams, and they blend with reality and can often be confusing for the individual. I'm sure it will all come back to you in time."

"Have you stayed by my bed the whole time?"

"I have. I gave Chakotay the control, and opted to stay with you just in case you, well, took a turn for the worse." She patted my hand, and leaned in close, her scent getting stronger with each movement of her body.

I want to ask her more, but instead say, "thank you, Captain." There will be time for more questions when I am back on my feet and healthy, and where reality is separate from my fevered dreams of the woman I call my Captain.

"You're quite welcome," she husks, as she did in my dream. "Get some rest, I'll be here when you wake." Her fingers tighten around mine and remain holding me firm, as she leans away and settles in once again.

"Yes, Captain." And once again, darkness creeps into my consciousness and takes me away from reality to enter my dreams, my desires of the one I love.

**A/N: The idea for this fiction sparked while I tossed and turned last night, my body raging with fever. The title came from a search on a booksellers website after I typed in Lesbian Romance, and received twenty erotica books, some with quite humorous titles. You should try it if you want about half an hour of stupid entertainment. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this and avoid getting sick, because it sucks. But, having a great person to talk you through the worst of it makes all the difference in the world. Thank you A. *Kisses***


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